


The Apple

by NotAPoet



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - present day, Crack, Gen, Masturbation, Smut, being sexually attracted to fruit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 22:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12567404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAPoet/pseuds/NotAPoet
Summary: Being over at Auntie Bethany's house for coffee, Clarke finds herself inexplicably attracted to a particularly dashing apple.





	The Apple

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A tumblr post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/333756) by fartgallery. 



When Clarke's mother had convinced her to come over to her aunt's – Clarke's great-aunt's – house for coffee, cake and a chat, Clarke would've never guessed that she'd end up in her doily-decorated guest bathroom, hastily masturbating under the judging eyes of a dusty clown puppet sitting on a swing in the top corner next to the window, desperatly trying to finish before someone would come knocking on the door, asking about her bowel movements. She had had to make _something_ up to warrant her suspiciously long absence at the table, you see.

How did she get into this situation, you may ask. It all started when her great-aunt – let's call her Auntie Bethany, because that's what Clarke and her mom call her – led them into her dining room, where she had prepared the table with everything needed for a proper afternoon coffee, and Clarke noticed a bowl sitting on the cabinet. Calling this bowl a 'bowl of fruit' would be an overstatement, because there was exactly one (1) apple in it. Now, this bowl was just that: a plain old bowl. But that apple, that apple was something else entirely. Red and round, with yellow sprinkles on its polished skin and a perfect little stem popping out at the top, pointing toward her like it wanted to say hello. Clarke had never seen a more attractive thing. Having lost sense of her surroundings for a moment, she almost walked into her mom in front of her. “N-nothing,” she quickly said, averting her eyes from the temptatious pome. “What?” Abby turned to look at her. “Did you say something, Clarke?” - “Me? No. I didn't say anything. Why? I thought you said something.” - “I didn't say anything.” She gave her that half-concerned, half-examining doctor's look. Clarke felt blood rushing into her ears. “What are you two waiting for? Sit, sit!” Auntie Bethany said, with her raspy old person's voice, unknowingly and unintentionally saving her from further, more investigative questions. Her mom and Auntie Bethany had already chosen their seats, leaving Clarke with the one facing the cabinet, giving her the best view of The Apple. Auntie Bethany was sitting across from her. She had poured them their coffee, shovelled pieces of cake onto their plates and was now rambling on about her favorite coffee-time topics: physical ailments and people Clarke didn't know personally. Even without the added distraction, Clarke would've had trouble to stay focused. The cake was apple crumble, by the way. _Maybe that's why there's only one apple left_ , Clarke thought, _and we're devouring his brothers right now_. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. Anyway, as much as she tried to avoid it, Clarke's eyes kept wandering off from Auntie Bethany's face, beyond her shoulder and to The Apple. She felt a familiar itch in her crotch, one that she didn't usually associate with fruit, but couldn't wait to scratch nonetheless. She would just have to sit through this for another hour or two and then-

“Clarke?” Her mom's voice brought her back to the table. “Are you alright, honey?” She had put on that look again. Clarke reassembled herself. “Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking about something. What did you say?” She tried to shoo her thoughts away. “Do you have a boyfriend, Clarke?” Auntie Bethany smiled at her. The question hit Clarke unprepared. “Um, no.” She didn't have a boyfriend. God, no. In fact, she hadn't thought about boys lately at all. Girls were a different matter, but Clarke wasn't yet in a place where she felt comfortable discussing such delicacies with another soul, let alone Auntie Bethany. And especially not now, with her panties wet from looking at an apple for too long. Which is why she responded to Auntie Bethany's follow-up question (“Why not? You're such a pretty young woman!”) with a brusque “I need to go to the bathroom”, got up and headed exactly there. At the table, her mother did not lose that look, while Auntie Bethany shrugged and gullibly helped herself to her second piece of cake (which, according to her doctors, she was not supposed to have – but you try convincing an old lady of that).

In the bathroom, Clarke closed the door behind herself. She would've locked it, too, if it weren't for the fact that Aunthie Bethany had removed the key long ago, for fear that her own grandchildren, who had a few years on Clarke, by the way, might accidentally lock themselves in. She had never put it back. Going to the bathroom at her place had always been a bit of a thrill. Despite not actually having to go, Clarke pulled down her pants and sat down on the bowl out of habit. Taking a look at her erect clit, she could not resist touching it. It felt good. She had known it would feel good. Her mind was telling her to stop, but her finger just would not. Why did she have to touch herself in the first place? She should've known that she was only going to make it harder on herself than it already was (pun not intended). Now she would have to muster all of her willpower to try and force herself to move her hand away, pull her pants up again and- nope, she couldn't do it. Denying herself the pleasure was not an option right now. Clarke decided it better to just quickly get herself off, then casually return to the dining room like nothing's happened. Having made that decision, she got up and sat down with her back leaning against the door. In case someone was trying to open it, they would at least not catch her with her pants down. Well, they still would, literally, but her sitting in front of the door would block their entry, and Clarke would have time to pull her pants up. Or something. Anyway, Clarke rubbed away. Then, there was a knock at the door, and her mom's voice said: “Clarke, honey, are you still in there?” By now, Clarke was too close to let that stop her. “Yeah,” she responded, trying to sound as normal as she could while also trying to not lose her edge. “Are you alright? You've been in there for a while, and you don't sound good.” Awkward didn't even begin to describe it. “I'm okay, mom,” Clarke said, drawing tight circles on her clit. “Just, go back to the dining room, I'm almost done.” Finally, the anticipated wave of pleasure overcame her. She bit her lip to not make a sound. “Are you sure?” Clarke let out a breath, closing her eyes in pure bliss. “I just need to wash my hands, then I'll be right out, okay?” The cool tiles of the bathroom floor felt nice on her hot skin. “Alright then.” She heard her mom's footsteps as she walked away. After enjoying her high for another few seconds, Clarke got up, wiped herself clean, pulled her pants up, and washed her hands. She would never see apples in the same light again.


End file.
